


Don't Be a Stranger

by Fallowfield



Category: Naruto, Naruto Shippuden
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Harvest God(dess) Hashirama, Harvest Moon - Freeform, Harvest the Ninja Way, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 11:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19789516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallowfield/pseuds/Fallowfield
Summary: Madara has taken over the overgrown farm on the edge of town. It seems bleak at first but there begin to be some auspicious occurrences....





	Don't Be a Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the piece I wrote for Harvest: The Ninja Way, a Naruto x Harvest Moon crossover zine!

I began seeing him this past spring. At first I didn’t believe the tales of the townspeople, about this god of the harvest. Their faces glow with adoration as they describe him, each story different from the last, bouquets blooming from their tongues. Small town, I’d thought. There’s always superstition.

It makes sense, in a way. Everybody in this town depends on the year’s cycle, and grasping at some sort of cause for either their prosperity or their scarcity is entirely natural. A smiling god lives on the mountain yonder, watching over them. I’d wished it could be so simple. If you had need, there was somebody to ask. If you had abundance, there was somebody to thank.

In my first year, I always stood quiet as they spoke of him. This Hashirama who brings the rains and the sunshine. Who makes the trees grow. I couldn’t grasp it. There was no way one being can determine the course of nature’s fate. I felt the vestiges of a floating planet in a dark sky, a small strange spark in the cosmos. There was no benevolent hand. If there was a hand at all, I didn’t want to think of it. I felt a dark nature.

It wasn’t like I was welcome anyway. The villagers here are of a tightly knit clan, and they’ve known each other from birth. I was a dark and dangerous outsider. They knew of my father, who used to run this farm, but he always kept to himself. I wasn’t aware how cold they would be, stiff necks at my surname. Uchiha. They spoke welcoming words, but I felt them grow cold and hollow, like the death rattle of summer. I didn’t know their complaint. I didn’t know my father well. I heard their whispers. “Tajima had a son?” So I attended their festivals, only to stand alone at a distance. Their god smiled upon them, and there I was with my empty sky, outside of his reach.

But in my second year here, the wind began to speak to me. Its whispers were almost words, a gentle touch against my face, fingers turning my chin towards it. I almost expected to see a face. It hadn’t seemed so personal before. I had no memory of it at all. The forest flourished with a new vitality, a soul of its own. Something made me loath to leave this place. I knew by now the summers were long and sluggish, the sun pressing down with its wide palm as it wandered across the sky. It became hard to deny that it had a spiritual nature, especially as the forest began its long sigh, the release of the pressure as it sank from its blooming. It began to meditate, rocking itself, serene.

My restoration of the estate was still budding, so I depended on the mountain to provide for me. To the trees, giving is a need, after their long and celebrating summers. It and patience is all they know. Even though the cold is coming, they still offer all they have. I always came down from the mountain, basket full of apples, beets, squash, mushrooms, herbs. The whispers of the trees were my comfort, time away from the town. But for now, I found the pond again. Birch surrounded it, shading its diamond surface, which glittered in the dawn that escaped through the trees. It seemed like home somehow. Had I ever visited my father? Usually I’d fish, but I didn’t consider it right in this place, somehow.

I skipped a stone, marring the surface. It immediately felt wrong, and it came like a grasp to my throat. So I set a fallen blossom adrift, like some sort of apology. I looked down at the pond’s edge. A few of the visitors had left offerings, set carefully on the stone. Everything here was arranged beautifully, the collection art in itself.

The dawn softened the hard shadows. I watched it, the persistent softness, knocking at the door, even as the mornings grew less welcoming and the air more crisp. He barely made a sound, padding barefoot between the trees. I stood, still, like I had every time. Something made me hesitate to disturb him. I just watched from the shade of the trees. No words formed in my mind, so I didn’t say any.

He emerged in the green, and the trees offered their gifts. Hashirama smiled, tilted his head, and accepted, holding the fruit in the palm of his hand. It was the way of things. Then he took his brush and painted their leaves golden, sketching the next ring around their trunks. His promise for the following spring.

But then I shifted, and I heard the crack of a branch snapping, and it was quite deafening. I made the mistake of looking up to see where the sound came from, and it hit me square in the face. It wasn’t that I doubted he knew I was there. It was just undeniable now and demanded attention. I’d wanted to wait. After greeting the trees, he would kneel and sit among the flowers they’d lain for him, like a statue. Most of the deities I’d seen preferred to be statues or not to have a physical form at all. But he was so full of life, I couldn’t imagine he’d be happy staying so still. But then again, the trees always stood still, even as the life flows from them.

When the stars finally faded from my eyes, they wouldn’t completely disperse. He was kneeling beside me, his hair tumbling to the ground. What a strange god, to bend so low. I was speechless as I sat up, caught, leaning against the tree. I pressed my hand to my face, as he picked up the scattered items from my basket. His laugh was captivating. “So it’s been you.” Flowers grew around us. “You must like my forest.”

I finally lowered my hand, but he stiffened, worry pooling in his eyes. “Oh….” It was a painfully human emotion. I didn’t understand until I looked down, seeing the smear of blood. I wished I could back away. I’d only caused distress.

But he softened, then lifted his hand. Leaves sprouted out of it, and he bent closer. “Now we can’t have that, can we.” His words seemed to touch me, mint leaves. All I wanted to do was lean towards him.

I shook my head abruptly. “It’s nothing.” But I froze as he still managed to press his palm to my head. There was an inherent warmth to him, and when he lifted his hand, it was spotless. I found myself missing it when it was gone, regardless of what I told myself or how empty my head was.

His smile grew broad again. “There’s a leaf in your hair.”

I felt his hand again as he combed it through. He held it up between us in his fingers, but to his delight, I watched it change from brown back to red, then green. I finally exhaled, realizing I was holding my breath. “What…. kind of power do you have?”

“Ah. So you came here because you wanted something. I knew it couldn’t be simply to admire me.” Now that his worry was gone, I only sensed amusement from him as he stared at me, his eyes gentle but clever. He laughed, melodic, and took a step back, letting the leaf drift to the ground. It grew roots before my eyes.

I froze, inhaling sharply. I couldn’t seem to let his pleasant demeanor calm me. I couldn’t imagine such a god. Where I grew up, there were either angry gods, or no gods at all. “I-- ….that was not my intention.”

His laugh came again. “Usually they at least bring an offering, though. You’re new here. You speak so formally and yet you don’t introduce yourself.”

The scolding had a teasing tone. I opened my mouth “Ah--.” I carried so little that didn’t already belong to him. Then I lowered my head, a slight bow. Why was I acting like this? He wasn’t aggressive at all. “My name is Uchiha Madara, and I’ve taken over the farm at the foot of the mountain.” I paused, knowing my surname might disturb him.

Hashirama, to my surprise, bowed back. What an informal gesture. “You live at the foot of MY mountain. And you’ve really made yourself at home.” He gestured to the basket, laughing. I was struck again, and held it up, offering it to him, but he waved his hand. “Oh, no, no. Keep it. I made this forest. I’m glad you like it. Where else would it go?”

I stared at his graceful hands. They were reflected on the surface of the pond. Maybe he hadn’t heard me. “Even if I’m an Uchiha….?”

Hashirama paused his gesturing, his arms falling to his sides, and looked me in the eye. “Why not?” He was painfully sincere. His eyes were warm and seemed to hold me in place. 

“The townspeople may not agree.” I let out a dry laugh, trying to tear my eyes away. Why did I always bring such a negativity?

“But wouldn’t they celebrate the farm’s revival? It’s been quite some time….It would enrich everyone.” He held his hand to his chin, strangely still. Maybe he was going to turn into a statue, after all.

I found myself flinching at the worry in his words. “I have the same question.” 

“Well.” He tilted his head to the side. “I’m happy you’re giving that farm a new life, Uchiha Madara. It’s been years since it’s been cultivated, and the fields were bare and full of debris. It made me sad.” His smile stood in stark contrast to his statement.

I watched as he bent, the leaf browning again in his hands, the stem remaining. The quiet of the dawn returned, and the delicate rays illuminated him before me. The words finally came, and they spilled out, clumsy. “Isn’t winter terrible for you? Why do you seem so happy to make autumn come?” I knew this winter was going to be harsh, with snowy fields and cold neighbors.

He looked back up at me, then shut his eyes, exhaling. “It’s not terrible. The trees are so tired from all their offerings. It’s one last celebration. The flowers are praying for reincarnation. Then it’s time to sleep.”

He stood, sensing my doubt, then took my hand in his. It was unexpected, and I inhaled, my hand tensing. But he was whispering leaves, and my heart quieted, like shutting my eyes in the bath. 

“If you ever need anything, just ask me. I’ll be here. You’ll never be in need.” He squeezed my hand then dropped it. The turbulence returned. My hand seemed to ache without his, a sailor away from the sea. 

I looked down again. “Why do you stay here? Don’t you know they love you? They have a festival every autumn. It’s coming up. Why don’t you come?”

This was the first time Hashirama’s smile began to fade, and his eyes grew pensive. “Ah, well. I do come. Usually only the children talk to me, though.”

I thought back to last fall. I was still so new to the town and was using the festivals to try to meet people. Had I seen him, walking through the festival, barefoot and hair billowing behind him? The children ran down to the riverside while the adults gathered in the square.

“They like to braid my hair, see.” His eyes creased at the edges as he smiled again. “And I like when there’s music.”

I must have not seen him because I’d stood, eyes open, unbelieving, as they prayed their thanks and served the food. That was my only theory, anyway. “Then why don’t you come down more often?”

Being a small god must have its perks. The name of each villager comes to him as he stares at their reflection, each from their own corner of his heart. He could watch the years play across their faces, the stolen kisses behind the sheets. How cold it must be to live in the cosmos. He could live happily close to those he loves.

“My home could only be here.” He could have a favorite clearing. He could walk barefoot and sing lullabies to the trees. The town was clear of trees, and there was no way he could thrive there, even though he was the reason it was founded. It couldn’t exist without nature’s generosity. 

But his smile grew back, a blossom itself, as he gazed at me. “But why does it have to be a bad thing?”

My face softened. I guess it didn’t have to be. He can make whatever home he wants. Why does a god have to explain himself?

He laughed. “You’re so serious. Do you think you can skip it farther than I can?” His hand brushed against mine again, then I felt the smooth stone he gave me. What kind of person accepts a god’s challenge? The water would heed his call, happy to please him. But at my core, I wanted to spend as much time here as I could. So I took the stone.

Later, as I turned to leave, my heart wavering, he placed his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t be a stranger now, Madara. Come up here any time.”

So I became the only one to see him, the one of greatest faith. What an incredible irony. I walked back down the mountain, unable to forget his smile. And when I passed my fields, I noticed that my pumpkins, which had been sparse and small, had grown thick and ripe to bursting.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on twitter @fallofield!


End file.
